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NEVER BREAK THE CHAIN.
Friday, May 20th, 2011
In class we read “Funeral Blues” by W.H. Auden. “Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun” reads the boy directly across from me. Then he looks up and asks, almost angrily, as though haven bitten into a rotten apple: “how can you dismantle the sun?” Some time ago I taped up a photograph of [...]
Childhood.
Saturday, April 30th, 2011
Seven days after my seventeenth birthday, April 11th of this very year, my childhood came to an end. At the time I would’ve have perhaps have said something as dramatic as “my childhood died”. But please don’t think too badly of me for it. It sure felt like death, then. My greatest fear is that [...]
Bipolar Part 4 of ∞
Friday, December 24th, 2010
Dirección General de Tráfico suggests adding “Aa” in front of the name of one of your contacts in your phone address book. In case of an accident, whether its cause is recklessness or force majeure, use of this safety measure can quicken identification and treatment. “Aa” is an abbreviation of “Avisar a.” In English, “avisar” means [...]
Bipolar Part 3 of ∞
Friday, April 30th, 2010
I hate the look, feel and sound of my mother’s crying. It’s not so much the implications as the act itself: ugly, rolling down in fat, butchered sweeps. She looks younger than ever when she cries, as much as twenty years younger. Perhaps I am so affected by her crying because it shows me the [...]
Bipolar Part 2 of ∞
Saturday, December 5th, 2009
At two o’clock in the morning my mother turns on all the lights in the house. She wipes off her shoes and shucks off her lipstick. My mother breathes like the bogeyman, leaving shell-shaped marks of perspiration on the walls. She opens a drawer to tuck in the silk grey scarf and the matching elbow-length gloves [...]
Bipolar Part 1 of ∞
Saturday, October 17th, 2009
When I walk into my room I see it as a secret base: a screwdriver for when she locks herself in the bathroom, a phone with a doctor on speed dial, several packs of Kleenex, a box of medication underneath my photo albums. It is odd to be keeping the medication of one’s mother underneath [...]
This Is What Happens Now.
Tuesday, October 13th, 2009
I called the psychiatrist half an hour ago. Outside on the balcony, so she wouldn’t hear me, holding the phone in one hand and the slip with his number on the other. He had a voice like a classmate of mine, regular, almost boyish, especially careful. I told him about her. He seemed nice, and, [...]